LENIN'S REVENGE

 


Sub Title: A pound of flesh from the Romanovs


Moscow, July 1918


The air in the Ipatiev House was thick with dread. Emperor Nicholas II, his wife Alexandra, and their five children—Olga, Tatiana, Maria, Anastasia, and the frail Alexei—huddled together in the dimly lit basement. Outside, the Bolshevik guards paced, their rifles gleaming under the flickering lanterns.


Vladimir Lenin sat in his Kremlin office, staring at a faded photograph. His brother, Alexander Ulyanov, stared back—young, defiant, moments before the noose tightened around his neck. Executed by Alexander III’s order. The Romanovs had taken everything from him.


A knock. Yakov Yurovsky entered, his face grim. "The White Army is closing in, tovarisch. The decision must be made tonight."


Lenin’s fingers traced the edge of the photograph. "No trials. No mercy."


Yurovsky nodded. "It will be done."


---


Ekaterinburg, 3:00 AM


The Romanovs were awakened, told they were being moved for their safety. Nicholas carried Alexei in his arms, the boy’s bones brittle from hemophilia. The family descended into the basement, unaware of the rifles pointed at them.


Yurovsky raised his hand. "By order of the Ural Soviet—"


A volley of gunfire erupted. Nicholas fell first, his chest torn open. Alexandra clutched her children, screaming as bullets tore through them. The girls’ corsets, sewn with jewels, deflected some shots—prolonging their agony. Alexei, wide-eyed, was finished with a bayonet.


The room reeked of blood and gunpowder. Yurovsky stepped over the bodies, ensuring no pulse remained.


---


Moscow, Dawn


Lenin received the telegram: "The family is no more."


He lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly. The Romanovs had ruled for three centuries. Now, they were ashes.


Revenge was sweet. But the revolution demanded more blood.


He turned to his secretary. "Burn the bodies. And find the next traitors."


The Red Terror had only just began.



                

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